His Story
by MorganaMoore
Summary: Alone in muggle England, Severus finds his way into a dingy bar. He thought his story was complete.


I do not own these characters, I only play with them. No money is being made and no copyright infringement is intended.

**Beta**: The amazing Sighing Selkie - Thanks so much!- The mistakes remain mine.

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**His Story**

The tram rattles back and forth with a rhythm that is rocking its passengers into lethargy. Standing near the back, a man is looking out at the rain spattered images that flash past him. Each scene holds a story and he often wonders about these people and their lives. People he has never met. Will never meet. He understands how the accumulations of decisions and chance meetings have provided the substance for these stories. His own story, his story, is woven with bad choices and good intentions. His story has regrets. His story has led him here, to this place, at this time.

He is wet. The weather in muggle England is no kinder to his aged bones than in his world. He reminds himself that this _is_his world. His long raincoat is still more of a cloak than a coat. It is the only thing he could not concede to this world. That, and the wand sewn into a pocket in the sleeve. He hasn't used it. Not since he left.

He is weary and his shoulders slump dejectedly. The tram slows to a stop and he steps forward to keep his balance. A low hum of music floats through the open doors. The drum beats out to the mournful tune and he steps off the car. His heart follows the bass line like a child follows a pied piper. He doesn't know this though. He does know that he could use a drink.

He crosses the street after a quick glance to ensure it is safe to do so. He sidesteps the puddles that reflect the reds and blues of the neon signs along the road. He leaps over the large mass of water that has accumulated against the footpath. He enters the pub. The haze of smoke hits him and he wraps it comfortably around himself as he finds a table.

He sits in the back by himself and pulls a pack of fags from an inside pocket. His raincoat is wet and he shucks it off of his narrow shoulders folding it onto the chair beside him. The soft brown kidskin jacket he wears underneath is dry although the edge of the black turtleneck is damp. His dark hair is tied at the nape of his neck and he can feel the water drip a trail down his back.

A barmaid comes by and he orders a pint of stout. She walks away and he brings a light up to his mouth. He takes in his surroundings; years of spying have always made him exceedingly aware. The room is dark and there is a small stage in the far corner. There are a couple of stools with two guitar stands and a small drum kit. He hopes the music is good as he looks over the other patrons. The crowd is a mix of middle aged folks and young. There is an air of desperation about them. He doesn't recognise anyone. He didn't expect to.

His pint arrives as he stubs out his fag. He takes an appreciative sip and leans back as the band retakes the stage. The lights dim further as a young man with a mop of hair so black it shines almost blue under the stage lights steps out. He sits on the stool with one foot resting on a rung, the thigh of his bent leg straining against the faded denim of his trousers. He pulls the guitar strap around him and he adjusts the microphone. He has a fag hanging from his mouth as he tunes his guitar and has a few words with the bass player sitting on his left. Behind them the drummer is tapping out a beat, waiting.

The guitar player lifts his head so his profile is visible. The man's breath catches a moment and he gives himself a mental shake as he lights another fag. Another life, he reminds himself.

The guitarist looks up and emerald green eyes look right at him.  
It's him. Ten years in a muggle life and here, in this run down dive, those eyes find his. He leans back further into the darkness, wanting to see but not wanting to be seen. He can observe in anonymity for now as the guitarist is blinded by the stage lights and he relaxes as the bass starts up with the drums.

The guitarist takes the fag and butts it out in an ashtray sitting on the stage beside him.

"I just wanted to thank you all for coming out tonight. I see a lot of familiar faces out there as well as some new ones. I hope we haven't disappointed. This will be our last set tonight. This next song is an original."

The guitarist's fingers started plucking out a melody that quiets the room. His head moves back and forth as though the music drives it. He closes his eyes. Everyone is focused on the tiny band at the back of the pub. Severus is hypnotised by the lyrics and is stunned at their source.

_Hard hearts once beat a rhythm, clashing like waves_

Tearing at the shores, reshaping the world

Cold hearts once kept a rhythm and you were the master of the beat.

Time kills the music but the beat is never gone

Pounding out its song, moving life along

Cold hearts once kept a rhythm, now melted, by your heat.

Harry's eyes are closed and the corners of his lips are up tight against the microphone as he sings.

_I came to you, my friend and you became my lover_

You held me through the nightmare

You calmed the wild beast.

I watched you sleeping. I held your hand and you held my heart.

Severus reels in the wash of words. His world, their world, is crowding in on him in that dark muggle bar. He sees a few couples standing on the edge of the dance floor, holding each other and swaying to the music. He downs his pint and walks to the bar. He orders a whiskey and retakes his seat. He leans back to listen to the rest of the set, smoking his fags and nursing his drink.

Twenty minutes later, Severus is feeling torn apart. He cannot remember the last time he felt so raw.

That's not true.

He can remember.

…

He cannot believe that Severus is here, in this bar. So often he has seen him from behind … and so often has the illusion vanished when a turn reveals the wrong coloured eyes, the wrong bend in the nose, the wrong shaped cheekbones….the wrong face. The wound left behind when he died reopens every time. Even ten years later, Harry's heart still hopes.

And here he is. The right curve of cheek, the right coloured lips.

He sits. He does not wait for an invitation.

"You're alive." He slides a whiskey across the table. An offering.

There is no question here. No accusation, just a simple statement. Severus looks into the eyes he once knew so well.

"Yes."

Harry nods and pulls a fag out of his pack. The sudden flare of the flame briefly illuminates his face and Severus sees the years that have passed.

"I'm sorry." The words bring Harry's eyes up to meet his and he searches them to find the source of the apology. He doesn't question it but he waits for more. He takes a deep drag of the cigarette and slowly exhales it when Severus continues. "The war. It changed me. Us. Everyone. I was your teacher…I …."

Harry nods again. "I wasn't a child. You did nothing that I didn't want."

Severus looks away and over the crowd. He doesn't believe the words. "Nevertheless."

"I don't regret it Severus." Harry waits for the dark eyes to meet his. "It likely helped me stay sane. I'm sorry I …" He leaves the words in the air. He knows Severus understands. The strain of that last year of hunting horcruxes had brought everything, including their relationship, to a head. "When Dumbledore…." He takes another deep drag, shaking his head. "I didn't understand." It's his turn to look away.

The disc jockey puts on a slow song and people leave their tables to sway on the dance floor now cleared of the makeshift stage. Harry watches and brings his whiskey to his lips. He feels the burn die out before he looks up again.

Severus is looking at him. "You succeeded. You freed us."

Harry snorts in derision as a half smile plays across his features.

"Are you? Free?"

"As you said, I am alive." Severus drinks, watching him over the edge of his glass. "And you, Harry?"

Harry lifts his glass in a mock toast. "I am alive".

"Have you a life?" He knows that he does not want to know the answer to this and he offers "You're a talented musician." He lifts his eyebrow in mock surprise.

His face falls, now serious, and he continues "Although I find it a surprise that you are playing here, in the heart of a run-down muggle suburb". He takes a drag of his smoke and watches the red rim climb down the tube of the fag.

Harry offers his first genuine smile. "It suits me fine. No one knows me beyond what I do here. It's just me and my mates and my music." He drinks and assesses the man across from him. He is dressed well; his hair is shorter than he wore it ten years ago. He appreciates the snug fit of the turtle neck across the lean shoulders. He has a more defined musculature than he did as his teacher.

"And you, Severus?"

Severus notices those green eyes trace over him. He can feel the heat of their gaze. He can still remember the touch of his fingers across his skin. He feels a pull of pain in his chest at the loss, mourning it as though time had never passed. He tucks the pain away and sips his drink. Harry sees the walls snap up behind the black eyes.

"This is my life now, Potter."

"You've been cleared…you could…" he lets the words drop away. He wants to ask him to return. He's sure that with effort, he could find a comfortable place in the wizarding world. He knows this but can't continue for it would be torture. For himself.

He swallows down the bile that finds his way up his oesophagus as he recognises the horrible self–preserving thought. He can't bring himself to look up and focuses on the serviette that he is worrying. A long slender hand enters his field of view and covers his hands. He sighs inwardly and looks up. The dark eyes pierce him.

"No. I could not."

"I'm sorry". The words are barely above a whisper, but Severus hears them and nods.

"It's been…" he doesn't know what words he wants. It's been too long? It's been too cold? It's been too painful? Tiring? Difficult? Lonely?

Harry just nods. He puts out his fag and downs the last of his drink. Severus' stomach knots as he thinks Harry is about to leave. He wants to take his hand, pull him down. He wants to say "Not yet" but he doesn't. He just watches.

Harry waves for the barmaid and orders another round. He looks at Severus apologetically. He lights another fag and offers the flame to Severus. He leans in to Harry's hands to accept it. They take a moment to revel in the temporary reprieve.

Silence fills the space around them as the beat of the music drums in time with their hearts. They both are nearly bursting with things unsaid and they both know that there is nothing to be said.  
Their drinks arrive. Severus holds his glass in the air and Harry touches it to his.

Harry breaks the silence. He looks decidedly away from Severus, eyes taking in the scene on the dance floor with an unnatural interest.

"I have a family." He pauses and takes a breath. "Three children, the youngest is just a month."

The words are not unexpected, but the sharp pain that accompanies them is a surprise. To both of them.

"Congratulations."

"My middle is Albus Severus." He looks at Severus. "I have never forgotten."

"Perhaps you should."

They sip at their drinks and smoke their cigarettes, watching everyone around them. Each of them has their own story. Severus sees Harry turn towards him in his peripheral vision. He turns to meet his green gaze.

"Perhaps." The promise in his eyes belies the word. He cannot forget any more than Severus can.

Severus downs the remainder of his drink and extinguishes his fag with a little more force than is necessary. He stands and reaches for his raincoat. Harry's hand covers his and he pauses.

"I'll walk out with you".

His mind screams for him to refuse but his heart beats a bit faster in anticipation. He shrugs into his raincoat and watches Harry collect his from the behind the bar. He walks towards the exit and his eyes run over the man in front of him. No longer a boy.

They step into the rain and Severus pulls his collar up against it. He shoves his hands into his pockets, not trusting them. Harry is standing in front of him, looking up at him with those emerald eyes. He shivers in remembrance of so many times they stood like this in the past.

His eyes are no longer hiding behind glasses. There was a time when he was the only one who could look into them without looking through panes of glass. He loved those glasses as they protected what was his. Those naked eyes. Sparkling after a slow night of making love, flashing with mischief before unbridled passion and always and only ever beneath the comforter- in the comfort- of his bed. He reminds himself that he no longer can claim those de-spectacled eyes and it seems fitting that they are now exposed to the world. If this view cannot be his alone, he takes a small comfort that it belongs exclusively to no one.

Harry shifts his guitar case on his back and watches the emotions play in Severus' eyes. He wants to reach out to him, to run his hand down his cheek and feel the stubble against his palm. He wants to calm him. He wants to be calmed by him. It is not his place. He gave away that right the night he chased him out of the castle. He remembers the feeling of betrayal. It took him years to begin to heal after the revelations of the Shrieking Shack.

He doesn't think he can walk away from this. Not after all of these years.

Harry watches as his hands reach for Severus, grasping his coat lapels. He pulls him closer and brings his lips to his. They are warm. They are hesitant. They relent and the kiss is fierce. It is blame and forgiveness, it is betrayal and loyalty. He pulls closer and pushes his hard heat into the wet coat in front of him. He is desperate to explain his need, his sorrow. He is met with hard need grinding back into him.

His mind is warring with itself, torn between walking away and crawling into these arms forever. He pushes gently at Severus.  
The lips pull away and his lips chase their warmth. He stops. His breath is heavy as he looks into those guarded black eyes.

"You have a family."

"Yes."

"Tell me, are you…." Severus cannot bring himself to ask.

"I have a family." He nods to himself, accepting his decision. He looks into the eyes he knows will reflect the same pain he feels. He also sees questions.

"She's good to me."

"Goodbye, Harry."

He runs one hand down Harry's cheek, memorizing this moment. He knows it is this moment that will carry him; his personal talisman. He turns and walks into the dark rain, another encounter, another chance meeting, changing his story.

He doesn't look back.

He can't.

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Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. Reviews and concrit are always welcomed!


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